The Maelstrom
by Nevermore
Summary: Episode 4 following 'Blood Feud': San Francisco's kindred are reminded not to meddle in the affairs of wizards, and Daedalus encounters a long lost love that may now be an enemy.


Spelling Television, Inc. (a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment group, Inc), owns the characters of Julian, Cameron, Daedalus, Lillie, Sasha, Cash, Caitlin Byrne, Frank Kohaneck, Eddie Fiori, and Sonny, as well as the rights to the show Kindred: The Embraced. Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge the above named (or any other) copyrights.

The character of Matt Reimer springs from the mind of Eric Bowmaster.

The character of Marcus Dietrich belongs to Drahcir.

All of the other characters, as well as the story, are ours.

I include this small warning for the benefit of anyone who considers himself to be an overly sensitive person. There is violence presented in this story, sometimes graphically, and there are a couple of nasty words. If you have a problem with this, don't read it, and don't tell me later that you found it offensive because forewarned is forearmed. I would probably rate this story PG-13, perhaps R (but I doubt it). Who knows? I don't get paid to come up with actual ratings, so I really don't care all that much. Enjoy.

Additional special thanks go to Icy Mike Molson, who put Wakefield and me in a position to create some of these characters and to have some created by the other people mentioned above.

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Note on Chronology: I originally planned a five-installment series that picked up where Kindred: The Embraced left off at the end of 'Cabin in the Woods.' My writing, however, seemed to help other writers come up with ideas that fit well within the framework that I had created, and additional stories were then written. This is one of those stories. It was not originally intended as an installment, but the principal author, Steve Wakefield, approached me with the idea for this wonderful story and asked how this tale could be fit in with the others. I explained to him the general direction in which I was going, and told him who I planned to use heavily in future stories (so as to prevent certain characters from getting killed herein). Although this story stands well on its own (even more so than any of mine), it does fit in with my multiple story arc, and it is recommended that you read the previous three stories before you read this. So, in short, this story was written to fit between _Blood Feud_ and _The Final Death_.

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Co-Author's Note (from Nevermore): As can be seen, this is not a story that I wrote on my own. In fact, the plot itself is totally Wakefield's. Most of the characters that have not been seen previously are also his. His completed tale was, however, little more than a skeletal framework of a completed story. I then went and fleshed it out. Here is the completed product.

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Maelstrom

by Steve Wakefield

with Nevermore

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A game in several acts:

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Act the first...

...Dark Clouds Gathering

Subtle and silent, two Gangrel emerged from the shadows near the warehouse. The older of the two, Hank, looked over at his childe, trying to gauge whether or not nerves could play a part in decreasing their chances for success. It seemed, however, that his childe, William, was every bit as calm as Hank could have hoped. For two weeks they had been casing the building, and finally the time had come to strike. A human had moved in, supplying street gangs with military grade hardware. _Time for business to come to an end,_ Hank thought to himself.

Inside the warehouse, a dim desktop light feebly banished just enough darkness to make a single man's paperwork readable. Hunched over with his forehead resting in his left palm while he wrote with his right, the long haired man did not even start at the approach of the assassins, but as they drew within pistol range he cocked an eye up at them. 

"Yes?" he asked nonchalantly.

Shots rang out, flare from the pistols visible in the near blackness. The man at the desk sat back casually in his chair, studying his attackers' movements, unconcern painted on his bearded face. Correspondingly, looks of growing shock were etched on the visages of the two Gangrel gang-bangers. "What the fuck are you?!" William screamed, his voice heavy with surprise and panic. "You ain't kindred! You ain't!!!!" Languidly, the man responded by simply waving his hand…

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"And if there is nothing else, Rayce has the floor," Julian Luna said with a gesture toward the primogen of Clan Brujah. Rayce had only recently returned to the table after a month of absence, time taken as he furthered his plans for a new Brujah clan.

"But there is something else," a strange, disembodied voice announced crisply from behind Julian's chair. All heads turned at once, everyone wearing a look of surprise on his face. "A small matter, I'm sure," the voice continued. Abruptly, two men appeared in the area behind the prince, hands clasped non-threateningly behind their backs. Both men stood at rigid attention, one a few steps behind the other, his eyes turned down toward the floor as the man in front locked gazes with the kindred seated before him. "It would seem I have been somewhat lax in my duty," the man in front stated. "I present myself to the prince and my primogen. I am Magnus Horzbach, Clan Telemon." He looked at Matt and noticed the look of surprise, anger, and distrust on the young kindred's face. "Don't look that way dear boy, I am the _first_ of our clan." Chaos suddenly erupted as several voices began to speak and shout at once, with Lillie and Cash demanding to know what Magnus was doing, Matt shouting in disbelief, and Julian yelling for order as Rayce, Daedalus, and Patrick all remained quietly impassive. Julian finally regained control of the room and stood, glaring at his unannounced 'guests.'

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Matt asked before the prince could begin any interrogation. "My sire was first." He pulled his .45 from his shoulder holster and leveled it at the intruder.

Knowing full well how this could turn out, and wishing to maintain peace within the conclave chamber, Julian stepped in to take control. "Matt, enough" he barked. He then settled his gaze on Magnus. " I assume that you are aware of the tastelessness of your entrance?"

"Of course," Magnus said simply. "And I apologize. Sometimes I feel as if I cannot help myself," he added, his face a mask of amused sarcasm. "You see, while most of my clanmates are like our beloved Siras, some, like Johnny and I, retain some of the influence of our original Brujah blood." Magnus then returned his attention to Matt. "Siras sends his love and _commands_ you to take me in, subject, of course, to the approval of the prince." With a subtle nod he summoned his comrade, still standing behind him, to come to his side. "This is Nadav, an agent of the Mossad. He was foolish enough to believe he could bring an old war criminal to justice, though now he is fully aware of the realities of the world and the privileges that come with being one of us. He, as I, will adhere to the Traditions as well as any edicts you've seen fit to bestow upon your underlings. We present ourselves once more." The mysterious Telemon then bowed with a flourish, though something in his movements still contained a hint of contempt for his would-be peers.

Rayce said and did nothing throughout the proceedings, instead focusing his attention on studying the reactions of his fellow primogen, his mind pondering the ramifications of their response. Patrick Collins, primogen of the Tremere, was just as still, though he smiled at the chaos and reveled in the moment of discord. Daedalus, for his part, continued to do nothing. It was his reaction that was the most interesting response of all, and the one that merited Julian's attention first. What did the Nosferatu know? Julian could only wonder. Or, more importantly, why didn't Daedalus seem to care about the intrusion? The mind of the Nosferatu was as unreadable to him as ancient Greek.

Julian again turned from his primogen and back to the newcomers. "Present yourselves next week in a more acceptable fashion or find yourselves outlaws. You are dismissed."

Like apparitions the newcomers faded. Again chaos broke out. "How did they get past your guards?" Lillie demanded of Cash and Matt.

"Why the hell did you stop us, Julian?" Cash yelled. "We can't defend you if you won't let us!"

Matt screamed for Holden to come in from his post outside the door, demanding to know what he'd seen. Patrick nearly bounced in his seat with excitement.

Even Rayce indulged in a bit of uncharacteristic dramatics. "Just how the fuck long do you think they were there?" he asked everyone.

"The whole time." Daedalus' reply drew the attention of the group. "I knew the whole time. I also saw their spirit, their aura. I knew that they were Telemon, and that the one was stained with the Diablerie of your clan." His gaze bored into Matt. "Just when were you going to let the others know?" he asked calmly. "When were you to tell the others that their great savior is one that preyed upon his own?"

Matt rose, his voice a cold rush of anger. "When was _I_? If you were so concerned you should have told them. I was young and didn't know any better when I did it. No one had bothered to tell me that diablerie goes against the Traditions. Johnny and my sire find it acceptable, though I no longer do. Besides, there are certain practices that occur within our clan… it's personal, and not what it may seem to outsiders."

Rayce felt a flush of disappointment. Matt's words rang falsely to the old Brujah . _Too bad,_ he thought sadly_. Clan Telemon would have been useful._ "My business can wait," he stated, suddenly bringing the meeting back to where they had been before being interrupted. It was a small matter, and Rayce felt it beneath him to undermine the prince's authority by being the voice of order. He was, however, Brujah enough in some ways. "Why don't we simply adjourn to our own pursuits?"

Julian nodded, apparently absorbed by his own thoughts. He turned the newest developments over in his mind, trying to find a way of grabbing onto a solution to the disruption by the city's newest Telemon. He knew that there were many in the city that had not liked his decision to allow the upstart, East Coast clan to settle in his city. Even worse had been his decision to use the grunts as part of his own security force. Despite their gruff demeanor and simplistic ways, however, the Telemon had done a great deal to ingratiate themselves during an anarch incursion and a full-blown Sabbat siege. Julian had received information that they were diablerists, but he had ignored the warnings. Now the information was out. Even worse, the newest Telemon had shown themselves to be unconcerned with security or decorum. Julian could already feel the repercussions of Magnus' arrival.

Minutes later Julian turned to find Lillie. "Julian, the Toreador, but not I, wish to embrace a new childe," she said simply, knowing that she was likely going to meet with rejection. "We have one in mind, and I assure you he will not be of my blood."

"No," Julian said forcefully.

Lillie was prepared for the word but not the vehemence. "How long will you ban us, Julian?" she asked, her voice holding an uncharacteristic tinge of begging. "The Sabbat have been gone these six months now. _Six months!_ The neonate will be middle-aged, if not old, already. He's been around since '75, in the music scene." Lillie looked at Julian intently, her eyes full of pain and regret, products of her blood-brother's betrayal of the Camarilla. "This childe will not be mine, Julian," she repeated.

"Fine then," Julian said with a dismissive wave that only served to make Lillie miserable that she had gotten her way. "Just go."

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Few bands, Jo reflected idly, had as much unsung influence on California music as Timeless. The 70's ska punk band predated Madness' arrival in America, and had been the first of its kind in L.A. Now here she sat, once again in front of the man who fronted it – Max Callaway. She grinned. He had aged well, especially for a professional musician who had doubtlessly lived a fast and loose lifestyle, but in a few short minutes he'd be _really_ well preserved. She and Anna, in the guise of groupies, had gone with him back to his apartment, and there he would join the Toreador. Catlike, Anna flowed across the floor, her best come-on face at the ready. Kissing his ear, flicking her tongue inside it, she whispered hoarsely, "Max, what if you could live forever?" 

"Might be fun!" the musician said as he circled her waist with his arms and kissed her neck .

"Good," she purred. Then suddenly her fangs were at his neck. Joanna gasped as she looked on in growing surprise. Anna's fangs stopped just short of Max's throat, her body appearing to have frozen. Max released his grasp on the lithe young woman and rolled over to grab his guitar. _His guitar?_ Joanna wondered as Max strummed a note that keened through the air. _What the fuck?_ The instrument wasn't even plugged in, and the Toreador was baffled as she wondered how it could it be making those sounds. _And what the hell is he playing, anyway? Led Zeppelin?_ The absolutely surreal nature of the scene stunned her into inaction. _Over the hills and far away?_

After a few bars, a window, a portal that had appeared in the very fabric of reality, opened in the middle of the room. Sunlight streamed through, and rolling green hills and with scattered, ancient trees could be seen through it. The sunlight fell across Anna's legs, blocked only momentarily when Max gathered himself and jumped through into the primeval scene on the other side of the portal. Finally, Anna's movement continued once again as she bit down on the empty air where Max's neck had been moments earlier. Within an instant she screamed as sunlight consumed her, the bright rays blistering her smooth skin and reducing her alluring figure to ash.

_Sweet Jesus, what the hell just happened?_ was Jo's only thought. _We're in some kind of trouble._

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At the gesture from the bearded, long-haired man behind the desk, Hank burst into flame. The Gangrel's screams tore through the empty warehouse, drawing no response from his executioner. "Oh god, Bill! Help me! _Help me_!!!" William watched, fascinated by fear, unable to move from where he stood.

"What the hell are you?" he whispered.

"Tonight?" the man asked as he slowly rose to his feet. "Tonight, and hereout, I am death. Tell your friends." With the grace of a master, the man leapt across the table and grasped William's wrist, burning off the hand below it and deriving a new set of screams. "Before that? Your guess is as good as mine." The man then let go of his kindred attacker and calmly walked out, stopping momentarily to light a cigar on Hank's burning corpse. "Remember," he said to Bill, "tell your friends."

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As Julian rose from the sleep of the day he looked back at the events of the previous two years. How had Archon done it? He was already tired. His latest love had been embraced by his enemies and used against him, his former love hid a Sabbat bloodline, and his enforcer was a former diablerist. Surely calamity such as this was unheard of for more powerful princes. Power. He held to the illusion that power was still his, despite the fact that he felt it slipping away. The Brujah were a wild card now, smarter and more efficient with a leader that hid an unknown agenda; their cousins, Clan Telemon, were looked at, even with the diablerie, as the primary physical threat in the city. Lillie was suspect, and Daedalus, his friend... Was 'friend' really the appropriate word? _Perhaps,_ Julian decided, despite the fact that the Nosferatu had allowed invisible kindred to monitor a conclave meeting. Had Daedalus allowed some of his own clanmates such a privilege in the past? And who were these newcomers? Matt had always claimed that Johnny had been the first of Siras Telemon's brood, but Magnus said otherwise. Now they were in the Telemon compound, hashing it out with the powerful Telemon primogen. That was the worst. If Magnus and Nadav were who they claimed, primogen status might well fall to the newcomer. _Yet another wild card._ Julian sighed at the prospect of more conflict. Years of building peace had been dashed in a few months of fire and uncertainty.

Closed within his thoughts, he hadn't heard Cash enter the study. When the Gangrel coughed to announce his presence, Julian started. "Yes?" the prince asked.

Cash could see the lines of worry on his prince's face, momentarily hesitated, and then decided that Julian would prefer to know right away. "Hank and Bill moved in on that dealer last night like you said."

"So it's taken care of?" Julian asked, smiling to himself in relief that something had finally gone right.

"No."

Julian grimaced. "What now?" Cash waited a moment to gather himself before he continued

"Hank is dead and William is raving psychotically about fires," Cash explained. "His hand is burned off at the wrist. I don't know what the hell's going on but I want your permission to track this guy down. He killed more Gangrel! Damnit, Julian, every time we have peace, every time we settle, more of our people are torn from us. I say it stops. Make an example that those docks are _ours_!" Julian turned back to his bodyguard.

"All right, take Holden as well," he directed. Then he thought better of the decision, not wanting to involve the Telemon in anything significant until he was better able to gauge the way the city's kindred felt about the young, militaristic clan. "On second thought, don't. Who knows who we can trust anymore." He could hardly believe that he had spoken so frankly in front of another primogen, and immediately tried to dismiss Cash with a wave of his hand, only to be interrupted again.

Lillie burst in, her body a blur of motion, obviously distraught. "Julian," she cried, running across the room and thrusting herself into the prince's embrace, oblivious to how her actions might have seemed in front of the Gangrel primogen. Julian instinctively held her for a moment as she cried into his chest. "Oh god, Julian, she's dead." Only then did Julian gently push her away. 

"Who's dead?" He studied Lillie's face; she looked about to crack. The months since the Sabbat siege had been hard on Clan Toreador as they purged their Sabbat influences, and Lillie had been under constant pressure. Some wanted her to step down from the clan's leadership, while others wanted her dead. She had avoided two assassination attempts within the previous six months, and now it seemed as though Lillie had reached the end of her rope.

"Anna, the woman I sent to embrace our new childe," Lillie explained. "She's the one that's dead." Lillie slowly regained her composure and went on to tell what she heard of the night's events. "Apparently he disappeared right in front of them through some sort of gate. Then he let sunlight pour through it." She nodded at Julian's puzzled look, as if she knew just how confusing her explanation was, though she was unable to add anything constructive. "We searched Jo's mind, Julian. She's telling the truth." Lillie sat perfectly still for several moments as Julian pondered the matter. Then, in a sudden flurry of motion, Lillie produced a cigarette in her hand and lit it with an old, tarnished antique silver lighter that Julian hadn't seen in over forty years. _So she's under enough stress to actually start smoking again,_ he noted with concern. Though the act of smoking itself no longer held any health risks for the undead woman, the fact that she was undertaking the activity again said a great deal about her present state of mind. "Do you know what this means?" she suddenly asked the pair before her.

Cash shook his head, dumfounded, but Julian only scowled. "Yes," was his only reply.

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Matt Reimer looked with a combination of interest and concern at the two men eating a pizza at his table. While he anxiously awaited a response from his grandsire on the matter of Magnus and Nadav, Siras unfortunately was apparently acting on his Brujah impulses, riding around his town in his Dusenburg, acting like a 1920's gangster. Meanwhile, Matt was left alone with Magnus, wondering if there was a shred of truth to the German's story, and what it would mean if there was. "So tell me the story again."

At Matt's words the tall blonde man turned towards him. "Well, as I said I was an officer in the Wehrmacht, hiding in France after the war, when your sire, newly embraced, found me." He stopped just long enough to casually wipe tomato sauce from his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, and continued. "He decided that Patton was right and embraced me to fight against the Russians. I was more than happy to. From time to time I've returned to check in with my sire. The Soviet Union quickly became rather inhospitable after I killed some high party officials, so Siras eventually realized the ineffectual nature of my mission and released me. I've spent my time going through the world, killing those that amused me to do so, or amused others enough to pay me to do so. A while back, Nadav here caught up to me. Apparently, my name set off some bells in the Department of We Can't Ever Let Go What Happened to People That We Never Knew, in Israel, and he was sent for me. I was never one to waste such potential as he, and after I blood-bonded him I convinced him it was all politics. Anyway. I'm tired. Unlike Siras, I've pretty much spent the last fifty years constantly killing. I've surpassed him in skill, though not generation. My loyalty remains, though.

"He has always hidden me, or fed me, or healed me, or flown to God knows where to help me. So he suggested I retire here. The bay is a nice area. And you're here. Don't worry boy, I'm not after your job. I just want to live in comparative peace for a few years. I will, however, be at your disposal if ever you need me." The clipped words belied his central European descent, although that would be easy to fake if the vampire were either old enough or had possessed that skill while still alive.

"I may be young, but I'm not quite a boy," Mat replied evenly. "Siras has seen fit to declare me primogen out here, and that position demands respect – even from you – if I'm to retain authority over the rest of our clanmates that are out here. I'm sure we'll get along just famously, but take care to watch your tone."

" Keep in mind, childe, that you're only primogen because I'm not interested in taking the title from you, fool," Magnus countered, his hand slowly sliding down his thigh, toward a long dagger he had concealed in his boot. "Address me as 'sir,' as befits our respective stations. Me being your sire's blood brother, I will overlook this slight."

Matt considered killing the man; he could have shot him with a flare he had concealed in his coat, but chose to instead maintain a non-physical element to the confrontation while he waited for Siras' call. "I'm sorry, _sir,_ but I must have missed the announcement that superior age guarantees one of the higher rank within a military system. I forgot we care nothing for prior achievement or specialized training in our clan. You're absolutely right, I should probably be prepared to grovel at your feet even before I have your identity confirmed by my superiors, and all of this just because you happen to be older."

Magnus started to growl as he glared at the Telemon primogen. "You dare speak to me in such a manner, whelp? Are you aware of how quickly and easily I could kill you?"

"Are you aware of just how great an act of insubordination that would be?" Matt shot back.

Magnus bared his enlarged canines in a bold sneer as he continued to move his hand toward his boot, and then suddenly seemed to regain his composure. "You have balls, childe, that's for sure."

"Of course I do. I wouldn't have been embraced, otherwise," Matt responded, his face a completely blank mask of concentration as he waited to see whether Magnus would reach for the weapon in his boot now that his fingertips were only an inch from the concealed item.

"You're right, though, Matt," Magnus said, his demeanor suddenly shifting dramatically as a thin smile spread across his face. "I think we are going to get along famously."

Matt concentrated on concealing his relief at his elder's apparent decision to back down, and the remaining tension in the room drained immediately as Holden walked in with the cordless phone in his hand. "It's Siras," he announced as he handed the phone to the primogen. For his part, Matt was amazed that he had never even heard the phone ring.

"Yes, sir?" Matt asked as he grasped the phone in his own hand.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about not giving you any warning about Magnus," Siras announced. "Things have been rather hectic out here, and there's been some kind of strange phone problem. Magnus is who he says he is. With Yashida dead, you probably find yourself a little overwhelmed; you're to take on Magnus as your second, understood? Nadav will also stay there for the time being. Feel free to deploy him as you will."

"Yes, sir," Matt replied evenly, hiding his disappointment that his new guests appeared to have arrived for the long haul. The sudden click from the other end of the line signified that the call was over, and Matt groaned inwardly as he tried to find the strength to deal with his new second in command.

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Interlude

Max settled into a bench in the middle of Golden Gate Park, his sense of time increased to supernatural acuity as he gazed about. He could feel events as they clicked together within the continuum of the universe – cause, of cause, of cause, of cause... ad nauseum. Seconds stretched into hours at his whim as he watched the animal grace of the woman striding toward him. _Animal grace... she'd get a kick out of that._ "Hey babe," he commented with a friendly smile.

"So where's the damn fire?" the woman asked, her voice on edge, though he couldn't tell whether her tone was due more to anxiety or irritation. "You made it sound like this is a life or death thing." She scowled at him, though he noticed that even that expression, which would have been so sour on most people, still held a bit of beauty on her visage. Max shook his head to clear it. _Only damn fools in love think of scowls as things of beauty,_ he reminded himself. _Especially when the scowl in question comes from someone whose displeasure can be so much cause for concern._

"It's a life or _undeath_ thing, actually," he retorted. "Two leeches pulled that annoying embrace shit on me again." She scowled more deeply, though this time in thought, and sat down next to him. Max gave a tug at the long black braid that spoke of her half-native heritage. "They're getting clumsy, and that brings scrutiny to us all," he added, knowing that he should say a word or two that might remind her what personal stake she had in recent events. At his last words she gave him a soft, slow smile that someone who knew her less might have foolishly mistaken for affection. Max recognized the look, though – it was anticipation of the hunt. Her look became almost feral, and Max was unsure whether that was more or less of a turn-on as she leaned in and kissed him.

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Act the Second...

...The Thunder Rolls

Cash parked his bike outside of the flophouse where his quarry was staying. Virtually all of the members of clan Gangrel not guarding Luna had gathered quickly at their primogen's summons, and now they would have vengeance for the deaths of Bill and Hank. Cash knew that Lillie had called out a warning that he disregarded as he stormed out of Luna's study, but in the heat of the moment he had ignored her. A voice in the back of his head kept telling him, over and over, that he was rushing into something for which he wasn't prepared, but he felt he had gone beyond the point of no return. He knew it would be foolish to send his clanmates home now after getting them riled up with thoughts of revenge.

__

Whoever the bastard is that took out Bill and Hank, he's goin' down. Cash was certain of that much. The Gangrel primogen stepped onto the rain slicked sidewalk and joined the assembled members of his clan. Ten in all, Cash was impressed with the number of Gangrel that had joined him for this particular outing. He signaled Brit and Tomas to take the back stairs while Allie and Kathy stayed in the Lobby. Terry, John and Roberto took the elevator while Cash took Scott and Leslie up the front stairs. The smell of cigar smoke was pungent in the hallway outside of the arms dealer's room. Cash deeply inhaled the scent, easily able to tell it was fresh. His heightened senses also detected a woman's sweat, though that was less recent. _Good,_ Cash decided. _The bastard's probably half asleep_.

Cash drew his gun and prepared to hammer through the door when a woman's scream broke the stillness of the night. Cash whirled, instinctively putting two slugs into the woman's chest. Blood sprayed from the innocent woman's chest as his coterie burst into the room, hoping they were too quick for their prey to react. They had no such luck. A sound like a cannon filled the air as Leslie was blasted back out through the doorway and halfway through the thin plaster wall of the hallway. Cash rolled into the room, gun at the ready. What he saw nearly made him retch.

Jessup Halloran, the man he had come to kill, was moving his hand in slashing motions, while across the room Scott's body was coming apart as if he was being chopped. Limbs and shreds of flesh and muscle lay scattered about. Despite the horrific carnage, however, Cash didn't hesitate. He fired twice, one of his rounds catching the man in the shoulder. Jessup turned as blood seeped through his gray sweatshirt, and then, before Cash could react, he jumped through the glass of the window, down to an alley below. Without hesitation, Cash jumped out after him and chased after the bleeding man. _Whatever the fuck he is, he sure as hell ain't kindred,_ Cash knew. No vampire would have bled that much after only being winged by a 9mm bullet.

While he was desperate to catch his victim, Cash was also levelheaded enough to know he didn't want to find Jessup without having some back up. "Hey, get over here!" he yelled, knowing that help was only seconds away. He saw Brit and Tomas run around the back, only to be enveloped in a ball of flame that reduced the two to ash within seconds. Jessup then staggered out from a shadow, screaming as blood spurted from his face. Hoping he had found an opening, Cash raised his gun again, firing two rounds at the man's head. As Cash fired, however, Jessup reached out and caught the bullets, dropping them harmlessly to the wet asphalt.

__

What... the ... fuck, was all Cash could think as he stood motionless, unable to do anything but stare as Jessup sailed upwards into the night sky, quickly fading from view into the darkness.

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Max lay awake, expecting Jessup and Marik any moment. They had been an odd pair to add to San Francisco's chantry. Jessup had shown up three months before, with no memory save that he had been training at a monastery in Kampuchea when it had been attacked by some unknown force. He had a great grasp of his spheres, however, and a penchant for Do, the Akashik martial art from which all others flow. He had traded his services to arms merchants in the area for money for some time, then came to America to continue his trade and, hopefully, find some clue as to his identity. All he knew for certain of his past was a view of a house in the Bay Area. Marik, like Jessup, was also on a quest of sorts. He was a Virtual adept who sought a way to finally escape his old bosses in Silicon Valley. He was a hacker and a tremendous hassle, but allies were scarce enough to make these two valuable. 

Marik arrived first, striding through the door as if owned the building. He went immediately to the refrigerator, and only after the cocky asshole had a beer in his hand did he share the news about the attack on Jessup. The only thing Marik could tell Max, though, was that Jessup would be along soon. Some hours later a fully recovered Jessup emerged from the darkness outside.

"Greetings," he mumbled. Divesting himself of his trademark coat, he also took a beer from the small fridge in the shared loft that housed their node, then lit his omni-present cigar. "So what happened to you kids today?"

"Much like you, I had a run in with some leeches," Max commented.

"Oh?" Jessup replied with as much feigned concern as he could muster. Max seemed well enough, so he wasn't going to get all bent out of shape about anything.

"They're getting sloppy," Max said. "Their recent war with the Sabbat has left them in need of new blood. They tried to embrace me."

"They must be getting desperate if they were willing to embrace you," Marik commented, eliciting a cold glance from Max.

Jessup remained silent, though, and pondered the situation for several minutes, his brow furrowed in thought. "It's about time we did something," he finally stated.

"But what?" Max asked, as usual directing the conversation toward the most pragmatic of their concerns. There's just too damn many of them, and as long as just one gets away, tomorrow there'll be two, then four, then eight..."

"They're like roaches," Marik agreed.

"How about a three prong hit?" Jessup suggested. "Marik can get the dirt on Luna and all his shit, Max'll trip the bar out at Toreador establishments, and I'll hit the Gangrel like a demon." Marik was immediately enthusiastic, perhaps too much as far as Jessup was concerned. The young man had obviously read too many comic books and watched too many movies.

_It's an okay plan, as long as the kid doesn't try to do too much,_ Max commented telepathically to Jessup.

_Sure, and me and Secret Stealer are gonna be hitting them anyway,_ Jessup admitted.

"Sure," Max finally said aloud. "Gimme a week."

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"Why didn't you listen to Lillie?" Julian demanded of the despondent Gangrel primogen. "We knew what he was. Now you've just angered him. These folk need to be treated subtly and quietly. If only Cameron hadn't killed Archon..." Julian shook his head in frustration as he continued to pace in front of his guest. "He was alive during the time of their power. He would know what to do." Not for the first time Julian longed for the advice of his sire. Archon had certainly been no saint, but that wasn't what Julian needed right now. He needed a strong advisor, someone who knew the score…

Unfortunately, that meant Patrick – the Tremere would finally be useful. Also, though Julian was loathe to reach out to them because of the recent revelations and possible uncertainty within their clan hierarchy, Clan Telemon would be increasingly important. The prince would also have to send a message to his fellow Ventrue in Sacramento who still had a foothold in spite of the Anarch reign all across the West Coast. "Cash, send one of our mortal agents to the capital with a message for my brethren," Julian instructed. "We need allies. Also, summon the Tremere. Tell him he's required at once."

-------------------------------------------------

Matt sat, more relaxed now, at the table with Magnus and Nadav. Both were enjoying bloody steaks and a couple of beers, while Matt was helping himself to a large plate of baked zita. As they ate, Magnus regaled his newfound clanmate with some of his wilder stories about his time in Europe, as well as his days in the Wehrmacht. Taking a swig of his wine, a vintage Magnus had liberated from Julian's, Matt asked Nadav how he could come to serve an ex-Nazi. Nadav admitted openly that much was probably due to the bond, but also that he had himself done some terrible things, all in the name of orders. In the end, Nadav was unable to tell for certain who was the worse. Shrugging with his inability to rationally explain the path his life had taken, the Israeli turned up the volume on CNN.

The anchor was talking about an incident at Lillie's club. Apparently, it was being closed down by the health department. A number of individuals at the Club had been slipped a hallucinogen. The substance was found injected in kegs at the bar, and the police seemed to suspect an inside job. Matt was about to comment on how strange it was that Luna had been unable to control the police response more effectively when the anchor then moved into the next story. It seemed the L.A. Times had reported that reclusive San Francisco magnate Julian Luna was tied to the burning of a winery rivaling his family's during the eighties. Reportedly, all the owners of the winery, save one, were killed in the fire. That individual had written in a newly discovered diary that he had seen Luna exit the facility just before the blaze consumed the building. Spokespersons from Luna Ltd. issued a statement denying the assertions, saying the claim was "the sour grapes of a failed businessman."

"Well at that I'm off to the meeting," Matt said as he climbed out of his chair, full from the meal and knowing that the ordinarily dull weekly meeting of the primogen would likely contain more intrigue than was usual. Both Julian and Lillie had some explaining to do. "Behave yourselves when you show up please?" Matt asked, hoping both Magnus and Nadav would refrain from any grand entrances that would cause further embarrassment. 

"You have my assurances, dear nephew," replied Marcus. As Matt left, he admitted to himself that he wasn't sure he trusted the old man yet. There was an icy edge to him that not even Marcus, who had been a black ops government assassin, had ever had. Nadav seemed to share in his sire's demeanor. It was like whatever had been human had been burned out and replaced by a reasonable facsimile

"I'm off then." Matt concentrated on what would come in the hours ahead – Lillie's questions about the club incident, Patrick's incessant smirking at their failures, Rayce's calm but calculating stares, and worst of all, potential judgement for the diablerist. Still, he would not break. In the end, Matt was certain that Julian would want to keep the Telemon around so that they could go on killing. Telemon were killers, born and bred, and anyone in power had use for individuals with the skills that the Telemon brought to the table. Matt had Derek, his most recent ghoul, drive him to the mansion. _It's almost time to embrace another, _he thought. _Time enough since Barry…_

-------------------------------------------------

Upon his arrival, Matt could not have been more surprised. Things were calmly progressing as if people had already determined the face of Lillie's enemies and were going to war. The Telemon had expected to be left slightly out of the loop, but this was ridiculous. Rayce finally came up beside him. "Good, now we can really get started," he said with a smile that spoke of both friendliness and determination. "Are your clansmen here?" Matt shook his head, no. "Later then?" 

"Yes," Matt answered absently as he continued to scan the room, looking over the faces gathered before him, searching for any sign of hidden intentions. He found none, though that didn't surprise him. The other kindred present were all older and more experienced.

" Please be seated," Julian said with an air of command. His voice was clear and confident, certainly more than it had been in the past several weeks. "We have a new threat," he explained needlessly, "perhaps one that will overcome us. Fortunately our present foes are not faceless and without number, like the last few enemies we faced. Here is what we know. One, that we are dealing with two, possibly related, mages. Two, these men's names and faces are known to us. The first is an arms dealer named Jessup Halloran. Here is his photo." Julian passed around an 8" x 10" glossy, each of the primogen gazing at the picture long enough to commit the image to memory. Only after several minutes had passed, and each of the primogen had seen the picture, did Julian continue. "The second is a musician of some note during the '70's, a man named Max Callaway."

Matt's heart took a dive. Max. Johnny had told him to look out for Max if he ever got the chance. They had been friends in L.A. "I know him, Julian," Matt said immediately, not caring that he might be losing some sort of advantage by parting with hidden information. "Make peace." Julian looked up, surprised. Of course, had he been able to fully trust his enforcer, he might have learned this tidbit of information earlier. Now he would have to deal with the situation in public.

"What do you know?" the prince asked, his voice betraying nothing. "Is he some sort of Arch-Mage? What…" Julian suddenly looked at Patrick, hoping the Tremere would correct him if he misused the proper terminology as he asked about the mage, "… what order is he from?"

"He's a Cultist," Matt answered, telling Julian all he knew. Johnny had parted with that information when he had discussed his old friend, though he had never explained what it meant. "I guess that means he's a demon worshiper or something," Matt concluded.

Patrick immediately burst into laughter, and Matt knew he had guessed badly. "Being a Cultist means he's so doped and magic-addled that he'll likely either forget us within a few days, or else all but kill himself trying to dispose of us. They are as nothing to us," the Tremere added offhandedly, a slight trace of relief touching his face as he laughed. The room suddenly seemed brighter and as some of the tension faded into memory.

"So why make peace then?" Cash snapped at Matt. "Are you afraid of some sort of magic hippy?"

"I'm afraid of Siras," Matt admitted. "He, my sire, and this guy were friends in L.A. If it gets back I whacked one of my grandsire's friends, he might be upset. Who knows if Magnus knows him," Matt added under his breath, suddenly considering a new and even more unpleasant possibility. "If it's war, I'm with you, but I vote peace on the Callaway guy. Besides, letting him go would also let us concentrate on the one. What's his deal, anyway?"

"Basically, the son of bitch killed five of my Gangrel," Cash said immediately, voicing the only piece of information that he really felt was relevant from the events of the previous week. "It's war with him." Cash's voice gave Matt all the clues he needed about the mage. The Telemon had been in enough wars to know that hatred like this was reserved for those few who were powerful enough to make their enemies feel almost helpless. Once again, Matt wondered at his presence in San Francisco. After three years of almost constant warfare, his grandsire, Siras Telemon himself, had only a tenuous hold on his base of power in State College, Pennsylvania. Matt often thought that he should be back east with his fledgling clan, fighting to hold what was theirs rather than what was Julian's. Here he was though, and here is where his latest battle lay. The Telemon primogen resolved, however, to at least have all the information he could. As long as Daedalus was not around, he felt Magnus' little disappearing trick might prove to be quite handy. After all, if the clan was in the dark, how could they be expected to fight?

Matt's reverie was interrupted as one of Cash's guards rapped at the oaken door of the study. A brief moment later Magnus and his childe were ushered into the room, this time to face the conclave formally, to prove that they could behave with a degree of decorum. Magnus was attired in the full dress uniform of a World War II era German Hauptman, Nadav in a tailored Italian suit.

"We wish to present ourselves and humbly request leave to dwell within your city, Mr. Julian Luna," Magnus said, punctuating his even words with a stiff, formal bow. "We intend to settle here and pledge ourselves to your service." Magnus' formality, in stark contrast to his behavior one week earlier, overtook all in the room. There was much of Matt in him, though he still had a gleam of... something... in his eye that reminded Matt of Yashida. _Perhaps he's the epitome of what it is to be Telemon,_ Matt pondered. _Cold and deadly when he needed to be, but with the tendency to be flip and mischievous when the opportunity presented itself._

For his part, Rayce shuddered as he felt the icy gaze of the two newcomers pass over him. These were not men who killed for passion, not for the attainment of some goal, not in defense of themselves or others, and not even for gods. It had been long since he had seen men with eyes like these two, eyes that were, for lack of any better word, death. It was almost as if these two men had died before they became embraced. Despite himself, Rayce found himself wondering at the type of man that would find Magnus to be an attractive candidate for immortality, fearing the fragile sanity he knew he would find in Siras Telemon. Rayce had been friends with Yashida, and indeed likely knew him better than did anyone else in the room, including Matt. The Brujah had never expected to see men like Magnus and Nadav having sprung from the same bloodline. 

"Your request is granted," replied the prince. "Now what do you know of mages?"

"I know that they are easy to kill if caught unaware," Magnus replied simply. "In fact, given the right circumstances, it's as easy to kill a mage as it is any other mortal. Ready however, no garou, no ghoul, no kindred could ever hope to stand."

-------------------------------------------------

Lillie sat alone in Julian's bedchamber, reflecting on the hard truth she had seen in the German's eyes. Suddenly wanting to think of something, anything, more pleasant, she looked through the open door and watched Julian on the phone in the next room, still talking with his financial advisors. Halfway through the meeting his accountant had called to tell the prince that virtually all of his properties had been targets of various, presumably coordinated takeover attempts. _Attacks from all sides,_ Lillie thought despondently, beginning to feel as if the universe were once again tightening a noose around the necks of San Francisco's kindred. The muscles in her scalp were tight from strain. She began to rub them, digging her fingers deeply into her soft flesh, trying to massage away the tension that had built up over months, years, decades... Her mind began to wander once again, and she was startled when another set of hands joined her own. She knew Julian's touch without even looking, and she sighed as she leaned back, allowing the prince to massage her head, then her neck, and finally her shoulders.

"Listen, I've been real hard on you, Lillie," Julian said apologetically. "I know you never betrayed us. I'm sorry."

_Here it is,_ Lillie thought happily, knowing she was about to have most of her privileges returned to her. She had known it wouldn't take long to get the prince to back down. _Just one little crisis is all it took._ "It's all right Julian, I know what you've been through," she said smoothly, keeping her self-congratulating thoughts to herself. She knew it would be in her best interests to seem as penitent and compassionate as possible.

"I think you'd better go," Julian suddenly said, surprising Lillie with the suddenness with which she was being dismissed. _Damnit!_ she cursed. _It looks like I'll still have to wait a little longer._ "I'll have Rayce take you home," the prince added, allowing Lillie to test her ability to hide her anger and disgust. _Having me escorted back home under the trusted eyes of the Brujah?_ Lillie wondered. _You have balls, Luna._

Once again, though, Lillie maintained her composure and displayed none of the irritation she was feeling. Instead, she simply sighed in disappointment, as if the only bother in her universe was the thought that she would be unable to spend another minute with her ex-lover. "Okay," she said breathlessly, "since I assume you'll be busy for the duration of the evening." She let Julian lead her to the door, then decided to test him. She suddenly turned to kiss him, knowing she would catch him off-guard and hoping he would betray his true feelings with the hint of an expression, or the slightest gesture that he would be unable to hide. She was shocked, though, when Julian met her halfway, locking her lips in a kiss that held more passion than she had ever felt from the prince. Lillie held Julian close, keeping her chin on his shoulder so that he would be unable to see the dumbstruck smile on her face. The embrace lasted almost a full minute, and then Lillie left, smiling. A knew dream had just occurred to her, as unlikely as it was. _Perhaps getting my clan's privileges returned to us are just the start,_ she pondered. _I might even have a chance to get together with Julian._ In the thrill of the moment, however, she didn't even stop to wonder whether the prospect of a return to Julian's bed made her more happy because of the status she would receive, or because she truly wanted him back in her life.

-------------------------------------------------

Back at his apartment, Max was careful lest he wake Monica up. They had been together since she had discovered what he was, she teaching him the ways of her people and he trying to show her some traditions of his own. He undressed in the dark, but when he slid into bed she rolled over to face him. He could hardly make out the dark shape of her head next to him, as his eyes had not yet fully adjusted to the dark. He knew that she could see every detail on his face, though, as she had likely been asleep in the darkness for hours. It was just another small advantage that she had over him.

"You're late," she muttered, her voice betraying none of the accusatory tone Max knew was understood in the statement.

"How did you know?"

"You're so loud it's like thunder. You smell like a distillery. You're cold and wet. Take your pick."

He laughed, knowing he should have trusted her heightened senses to pick him out. No ordinary person would have, but that was a part of why he loved her. What had started as a meeting of the minds had grown somewhat. She had eventually let her pack travel on for a while without her so that she could stay with the mage. It was a great sacrifice, though she rarely spoke of what she had given up. He gathered her up and kissed her, softly at first and then with growing passion. Finally she broke from him, looking into eyes that had finally gotten used to the darkness of the room. "So how'd it go?" she asked simply.

"I've got a schematic," Max replied. "Jessup should be able to knock out the security without alerting anyone. That will allow him to enter without anyone the wiser. You'll be assisting me at the club. I know it's a change of plans, but I heard that leech named Jo, the one that came with the vamp that tried to do me, will be at the club with some friends. I'll need you to hit them if my magic goes awry."

"So what's the plan for the club?" She suddenly sat up, as if the kill were in front of her. Max could hear his lover's breath quicken, and could feel waves of heat coming off of her skin as she began to lick her lips in anticipation. Knowing she needed to have her animalistic drives sated, one way or another, he simply laughed and took her in his arms again, this time without meeting any further resistance.

-------------------------------------------------

Jessup sat atop the building across from the capitol steps, rifle cradled in his lap. He needed no scope – his night vision was perfect. He waited for Julian's clansman, representative Howell, and his coterie to leave the building. Carefully he channeled quintessence into the pattern of the bullet. With a wry smirk he remembered the Warren Commission, and then looked down at his own round. _This is truly a magic bullet,_ he thought with amusement. He didn't have any longer for reflection, though, when he saw who was coming. Quick as a flash the weapon was raised and the bullet flew for the Representative's head. Imbued with his magic, the wound would be unaffected by the healing properties of the potent vampire blood. Grinning with a grim satisfaction, Jessup channeled his power and fired again at the large man covering the downed kindred. Another head shot. _I must have been good at this once,_ the mage reflected quickly, searching for clues to his past even as he continued to look down at his prey. _Maybe I was even a professional._ The other four Ventrue began to return fire as they retreated back toward the cover provided by the building. Preparing for the coup de grace, Jessup then channeled his power into a grenade and fired it from the launcher at his side. Two more Ventrue went down like wheat before a sickle. As the final two reached cover, Jessup ran to the back of the rooftop and flew over to the top of the adjacent building. No cops would ever find him.

-------------------------------------------------

Matt awaited Magnus' return as dawn approached. The invisible kindred had stayed behind to gather information. At about fifteen minutes before dawn, as Matt was starting to fight off the first of the irresistible waves of weariness that would force him to sleep for the day, the German finally materialized beside his primogen. 

"Luna plans to use the Gangrel more than us," Magnus reported. The large man sat down to a cup of coffee carried by Nadav. "Also, the Brujah are some concern to him. They are as remote to him as he to us right now. I say we approach the Brujah, build bridges." Matt nodded and he continued. "Lillie also feels alienated. She and Luna are ex-lovers. He has been somewhat of a bastard to her. He made some overture last night towards a reconciliation, but I think we can stop it. We might even use our dark, charming friend Nadav here to accomplish the trick." Matt looked at him askance. "I know you are loyal to Luna, Matt, but do as Siras would. Support from strength, not out of weakness. Allow him to be prince, don't make him prince by default."

__

I thought you were on vacation, taking some time out of politics, Matt thought, though he kept his concerns to himself. "No. We support Luna and won't go behind him, but friendship with the Brujah is always something we've encouraged as a clan. I'll set Holden to it." Matt turned to his human retainers. "Make sure you get those guns we have coming to us today." _I hope we don't need them tonight,_ was his unspoken afterthought.

-------------------------------------------------

Cash entered Sasha's room softly, hoping that she was not in one of her all too frequent moods where the presence of another person within fifty feet of her would be reason enough to fly into another rage. He had heard of some Brujah fledglings having trouble getting used to their hot blood, but Sasha was an extreme case. He breathed in relief when he saw that Sasha was sitting calmly on the edge of her bed, brushing Jenni's hair, telling her about the "old days." Cash chuckled. He'd been Gangrel for over thirty years. She had been Brujah for three. He gently put his hands on Sasha's shoulders, making certain he didn't startle her; she turned, smiling. When she had been mortal he'd have died for that smile. Then _she_ had died for that smile. Word of his feelings prompted a Brujah to embrace her, and now the blood between them created a Romeo and Juliet situation so cliche that it even would have appeared farcical on a nighttime soap. Jenni turned as well and smiled. "Terry said he'd show me how to shoot," she said eagerly. "Can I go, Sasha?" Cash grinned. He felt sorry for the family that the girl had left behind when she had been embraced; she knew exactly how to play her elders – she knew Sasha would usually have said 'no' to her request, but right now the Brujah wanted to be with Cash. Less than a year and Jenni was already playing her would-be disciplinarian like a violin.

"All right, but you aren't to leave, and you aren't getting your own gun," Sasha called after the girl's retreating back. "Hey Cash," she added, turning to the Gangrel and flashing him a broad smile. She stood and held him close to her. "I'm pretty sure Rayce has cut me out of clan meetings. He says he hasn't, but I can feel it. Something's going on with him and the new Brujah." She felt his arms go more tightly around her. " Sometimes I'm so alone, Cash. I have no clan now that Eddie's brood is gone, and I don't even really have you now because of everything they did to keep us apart. At least I have Jenni. Thank God for that." Cash grabbed her chin softly, turned her head up towards him, and kissed her. 

"You haven't lost me Sasha," he assured her. "You aren't the only one that needs someone." 

For just one night things were right again. Sasha and Cash lay in each other's arms in blissful ignorance, not knowing that what they had faced before was as nothing, that soon they would feel the effects of the Maelstrom.

****

Act the Third...

...In which a new player emerges

Julian softly cursed as he received the news. Four powerful Ventrue, each of them elders that he had relied upon, were dead. The situation was obvious – either there was a leak somewhere, tipping off his enemies as to valuable targets, or there was no end to the ability of these mages. He was beginning to wonder that mere humans had coped with them.

Matt and his coterie had moved into the mansion earlier that night with some of their ghouls. The Telemon primogen and his mysterious and not overly welcome uncle were currently reorganizing the building's defenses with Cash's men while Holden and Magnus' childe, Nadav, went to speak with the Brujah. The prince took a sip from his wine and stared at the sheets before him. Lawsuits. Indictments. Information about accounts not even he knew the numbers of… all were now in the hands of the Justice Department. Most damning of all, however, were the transfers to the account of a now dead government official, made only hours before his death. God, it was too much. He suddenly felt supple hands scratch at his back lightly, instantly drawing the tension from his muscles and allowing him to relax. Slowly and gently, thumbs kneaded the tense muscles of his back. "Lillie?" the prince asked.

"No," an unknown female voice purred from behind him, "my names Serena. I'm a… friend of Nadav."

The warm hands spoke of a mortal, probably a ghoul. _Damn, those Telemon work fast_, Julian thought, allowing the stranger to relax him. The hands worked ever so slowly from his shoulders and seductively up his neck, pausing for a long while at the base of his skull. In over a hundred years, Julian had felt the touch of many women, some of them temptresses that had taken decades, even centuries, to practice their art. None of them compared to what Julian was now experiencing. Moving her index fingers to the sides of Julian's head, Serena massaged his temples, finally causing the prince to turn and devote some attention to the mortal.

Had he still been alive, Julian would have been struck breathless by the alluring desert beauty standing before him. Serena stood average height and was thin, with raven hair and dusky skin that spoke of an Arabic heritage. She gazed back at him with the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen, something in her expression seeming almost feline. Every inch of her lithe body seemed to have several curves, and the tight black tank top she wore displayed slightly toned shoulders and accentuated her breasts. _She's absolutely perfect,_ Julian thought, deciding he had never seen a more attractive woman. _Where in God's name did her master find her?_ Julian tried to form a sentence, to start up some kind of conversation, but the only word he could muster was, "Thanks..."

"Julian?" Lillie's voice interrupted, floating in lightly from the stairwell, sounding innocent and completely unaware of Julian's current position. The prince was surprised, though, to find that he didn't care about the negative reaction he knew he would receive. He heard Lillie's footsteps continue to approach, and the prince looked to the doorway just as her face came into view. "Julian? Oh… you're busy," she said, her voice devoid of the hint of malice Julian was certain he caught in the Toreador primogen's eyes. "I'll come back," she said gracefully as she turned on her heel and departed swiftly.

"No, Lillie, wait!" Julian called after her. _Damn_, he swore to himself. Only Lillie's companionship had made his recent trials bearable. He had even dared to hope that something was slowly re-growing between them. Now this.

"I'd better go," the girl said smoothly as she slipped out as quickly as she entered, keeping her back to the prince so that he would never see her satisfied smile.

-------------------------------------------------

Still stiff from her long flight from Pittsburgh, the tall woman stretched out in the park grass, delighting in the sensation of her tightly corded muscles pulling against each other. It felt so good to be able to get a taste of nature in the middle of a city like this. The cool grass and the brisk night air made her feel more alive than she had in weeks. _But enough of all that,_ she reminded herself. There was trouble in the city, and old friends fought on both sides. She felt she should warn one, allow him to stay out of her way. Abruptly he was there. Standing tall and clad in black against the concealing darkness of the night sky, she hadn't seen him. "Daedalus." Quick as a cat, the beautiful brunette clasped him in a tight embrace, locking him into a passionate kiss. "Oh, Daedalus. How have the years seen you?"

"You still greet me like that, even though, as I see by your aura, you no longer walk the Spiral?" The Nosferatu laid an appraising gaze upon his friend. She had changed. She carried herself as one could only after receiving a baptism of fire; and of course, he admitted, she had. "Are you truly Gloved Fist once again? Or is Baz'sh'mat still within you?"

"She is always with me Daedalus, as Antolochus the Greek still resides in you."

Daedalus winced at her use of his mortal name. "Yet Gloved Fist would still love one such as I?"

"Yes, Daedalus. Your friendship. The memory of us, _as us_, is all that allows me to look at those times and be sane. You were… you are… my saving light. I will love you always, though you were as your most hideous brethren at that time." Gloved Fist wept quietly into Daedalus' coat. "Oh dearest… I may have to kill you."

Daedalus looked down at her, the only woman who had suffered him romantically since his transformation, and knew how hard this was for her. "You serve the mages?" he asked, though as he said the words he knew somehow that was not so. It would be someone else… but who? The only other ally Daedalus could imagine was Meg, but she had left years earlier, taking the Golden Gate Park pack with her. They had been unable to stand the place where their own, Gloved Fist and others, had gone to the dark side, even if the sacrifice had been made to better fight the Wyrm. In the end, unable to find any words he felt would help, he simply stroked her hair and told her it was all right.

-------------------------------------------------

Holden approached the college quad where Rayce had recently taken to spending time with his mortal friends. The Brujah had begun hanging out with the liberal arts department at U.C. Berkeley, donating funds for a coffee and philosophy group. So when Holden and Nadav arrived, they were not surprised to find Rayce passionately arguing with a history professor about the inevitability of the fall of Carthage. Nadav took careful watch of the proceedings, and who appeared not to be smoking or drinking, while Holden took a seat where Rayce would see him in good time.

Nadav knew that for security reasons, Rayce was unlikely to go anywhere alone, so as the evening grew on the Telemon picked out the Brujah most likely to be Rayce's lieutenant. Carefully he made his way through the crowd to sit near the group that was building around one particularly charismatic speaker, a young man who always seemed to challenge Rayce's views just enough to keep conversation flowing. Finally, Nadav watched Holden draw Rayce away, and he then moved in to speak with the other Brujah when there was a lull.

"Hello, my name is Nadav," he said gregariously. "Mind if I have a word?"

"No, what's on your mind? I'm Jasper by the way." The Brujah shook Nadav's hand, then smiled as he realized the young Telemon had no body heat. "Actually, let's talk over here." The Brujah gestured at a tree where no one else was standing, and which gave a clear view of any approaches.

"Excellent." The Israeli allowed himself to be led. "There are those of us in Clan Telemon who can see where the wind blows," he said with the most ingratiating tone he could manage. We don't know what you and yours are planning, but coming as we did from Brujah, we're inclined to give assistance. If it's a power grab, as long as it does not endanger the Masquerade and is quick and not bogged down by politicking, you may find support among us."

Jasper's slow grin crept across his face. "You have no idea what we're doing," the Brujah said enigmatically, his voice letting Nadav know in no uncertain terms that there were things he was not being told. "And I'll wager your primogen doesn't know what you are doing right now," he added with a slightly reproachful wag of his finger.

"My elders and betters know," Nadav replied, "and that includes my clan's clan founder, Siras Telemon himself. We report to him weekly on the status here. He finds the current weakness of the local clans repugnant. This city could be a haven for the Camarilla in a sea of anarchs. We come of anarchs, but recognize the need for the Masquerade. Siras is tired of the Camarilla always falling back. He's situated between two Sabbat strongholds, in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. Outside of Erie and Harrisburg, he's the last significant Camarilla power in Pennsylvania. And if California falls to the anarchs or Sabbat, he may decide it's more important than Pennsylvania and come out here to reclaim what he can. He'd rather not, though. And let me tell you, Julian Luna would _certainly_ rather he did not. All we're saying is that if you're working to better things here, whether by strengthening old ways or creating new ones, we're at your service as former Brujah." 

"I'll tell Rayce." Jasper was unsure of what to make of this. Were these Telemon like the Brujah of Cameron's days? Or were they sincere? And what did it mean that Reimer was obviously out of the loop? Was he in disfavor, or did his grandsire recognize an inconvenient nobility that would prevent him from playing this game to its fullest? At any rate, Jasper was sure that Rayce would prefer to follow Matt's restrained policies rather than get overly mutinous.

As Nadav spoke with Jasper, Rayce and Holden sat comfortably not far away, the Telemon drinking cappuccino and holding a fresh apple cinnamon danish. "Clan Telemon extends its regards to our parent clan and wishes to offer our aid," Holden said evenly. Unlike Nadav, Holden was more a man of action than political subversion. He detested being used for this particular operation, especially since doing so went against the wishes of his beloved sire. In the end, however, Magnus had ordered him to come along, and so he had done so. He was Telemon, and the clan's blood did not allow for insubordination. _Still, it's not like this is really acting against Matt's wishes,_ he tried to tell himself. "This isn't a matter of trading political favors or the like, but simply mutual defense and assistance," Holden continued, trying to convince himself as much as Rayce with his words. "This is a dangerous city, and we would love to have you as allies."

Rayce smiled. He had expected this, as Clan Telemon seemed to follow where strength lay. It was a subconscious reaction, a manifestation of the soldier in them. "Tell Matt that we will protect him from all enemies, foreign and domestic," Rayce said, a wry smile crossing his lips, "provided, of course, that he should agree to do the same. That's what you were sent for, I assume."

"Yes, basically," Holden admitted, though he kept to himself that he was also supposed to evaluate the Brujah primogen's mannerisms, search him for any sign of weakness, be it physical, emotional, or psychological.

"Good," the Brujah replied, "I guess that's settled, then." 

-------------------------------------------------

Max and Jessup were seated in the living room when Gloved Fist strode through the door. "Amanda!" Monica called out from the kitchen. The two women ran to each other and hugged tightly, both crying. "Gaia, it's good to see you!" Monica added as the two embraced again. After some time, Monica spoke again. "I see your journey down the Spiral has left you unsullied for the most part."

"Yes, thanks oddly enough to a Shadow Lord," Gloved Fist replied with a slightly darkened gaze. "He saved me and gave me a place in his sept. You should have seen it, Monica; it was huge. Over thirty garou, all fighting the Sabbat in Pittsburgh." Amanda held her packmate close again. "I never knew if we'd see each other again. When Meg left…"

"She was hurt. And she said some things she didn't mean. She loved you and that was that. I'm glad you're back; Max is all I have now." Monica's face shined. Max had never seen her this happy, but what could he expect? She lived in a different world, and he wasn't garou.

"This is Max," Monica said with a broad smile, gesturing toward her lover. With a feigned grimace, she then pointed at the other mage. "And that bump on a log over there is Jessup. You'll be tagging along with him."

"So when's the raid?" Amanda asked quickly, hoping that they would be able to get down to business as soon as possible. Part of her hated being back in San Francisco. Everything she saw reminded her of the old days, and the decision she had made to abandon her life as Gloved Fist and accept darkness into her life. She had never guessed at the cost of her actions. Sometimes it seemed she would always be paying the price.

"We're moving on them all the day after your weapons arrive," the young Uktena replied. "Until then I guess we get to catch up on old times."

"First lets get planning out of the way," Jessup interrupted as he started to roll out the floor plans Max had sketched for them after scrying on the compound. He would not allow Monica to become distracted by the arrival of old friends, and from the look in Amanda's eyes, the new arrival would have no complaints with keeping her visit all about business.

-------------------------------------------------

As old friends reunited on one side of the city, across town old loves once again grew stronger. Cash's and Sasha's need for each other had achieved greater urgency as Cash watched his clan descend farther into the feral paranoia that was a trademark of the Gangrel clan. For her part, Sasha felt her clan slipping away, a sea of strangers where once there had been, if not friends, at least comrades in arms. Now she not only had trouble recognizing her clanmates' faces, she also wondered at their motivations.

As dawn approached, Cash kissed Sasha's sleeping form and slipped out, silently passing Jenni on the way out. _What a strange girl,_ he thought. So much had been stolen from her. Part of him felt a tremendous amount of sympathy for her, though he still couldn't help but wonder if she shouldn't be put down. She was, after all, an abomination. There were reasons that the embrace of children was forbidden. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. Sasha clung to the child, and whatever instinct had led her to do this had also brought her back to Cash. For now, at least, Cash would allow the child to live.

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Lillie and Julian, despite Nadav's, machinations, slumbered together as the dawn sun rose over the city. Finally getting back to what was comfortable and safe, an island of familiarity in a river of doubt, Lillie felt whole for the first time since Alexandra. Her clan was once again stable, Julian having allowed the embrace of four writers and a stand-up comic. The Toreador numbers were at a point where she no longer needed to fear imminent destruction, and the depredations of the mages had ceased. Although she knew it was probably just to regroup and plan another strike, it was respite all the same. And of course she now had Julian, and that's all that ever mattered to her anyway.

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Daedalus sat silently in the caverns below Julian's mansion, gazing at countless paintings that he had put away years before, having sworn never to view again. They were supposed to reference a lost chapter of his life, years of passions that caused him both shame and exhilaration. The canvas seemed to capture the mood of that period of his life, all wrapped up in depictions of the five physical forms of the garou – savage beauty, dangerous lusts, and a romantic pairing forbidden by the very nature of the universe. For all of the terror and chaos that she had caused, however, she was never really alone. It seemed everyone that surrounded her was drawn to her, like moths to a flame, always proceeding headlong to their own destruction. She could have had anyone she had desired, and yet she had chosen him. Daedalus had always wondered whether that fact should frighten him or flatter him. Over the years, he had chosen to be frightened. Now, however, he knew he had been fooling himself.

Now, having returned to San Francisco as herself, rather than the dark mockery of a righteous warrior that she had once become, she had once more gone to Daedalus and expressed her affection, her love. It was more than Daedalus had ever expected, and went beyond anything he could have imagined. Still loving him, she had returned and asked him to leave, to flee the field of battle so that she would be spared the impossible choice between her heart and her recently reclaimed soul. Daedalus could feel her pain, as he was now forced to choose between his own love for her, and his sworn loyalty and friendship to his prince. Despite the discomfort of the situation, she had still done more for him than any woman ever had, more than any woman had ever cared to. Not even his greatest friend, Julian, would have given him the luxury of the choice. The prince was ever a slave to his position, his power; he was a master of manipulation, and she was none of that.

__

How could I do anything but help her? Daedalus wondered. Amanda – Gloved Fist – was a true friend, and had proven that much by going to Daedalus. In the end, that was all he needed to make up his mind. There would be no Nosferatu to defend the Manor, and she, though he was not her ally, would be aided in escaping the grounds should the assault be unsuccessful. 

****

Act the fourth...

...Eye of the Storm

Amanda stretched out on the silk sheets, yawning as she awoke. Max and Monica's heat was still on the bed, so she surmised they must have just risen themselves. _San Francisco, who'd of thought?_ she reflected with wry amusement as she took a deep breath. The scent was unmistakable – nowhere else she had ever been smelled quite like the Bay Area. Unfortunately, the previous night had not all been a bad dream. She never imagined she'd return, let alone be one of two Garou "saving the town." _And from Daedalus' friends, no less_. _At least he knows. He's a survivor. He'll get out._

The smell of bacon brought her out of bed and into the kitchen, where her friends were having breakfast amongst the mess of Jack Daniels bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and assorted paraphernalia. _Gaia, what a night_. A small group of packages near the door revealed it to be the last such night; business would take the place of any more extended leisure time. Sighing, she set to unpacking the items, checking each one thoroughly with a practiced eye. Two MP-5's, a Mossburg, a Fianchi, a Belgian battle rifle, and several cases of ammo, including hard-to-get tracer rounds and phosphorous grenades. Most importantly of all, though, there was a kevlar jacket that had been mystically bound to her, a mundane item infused with a spirit so that it would transform with her into the dreaded crinos form – the wolf-man monstrosity that had always been associated with werewolves.

From her seat at the breakfast table, Monica looked on silently, marveling that a Child of Gaia would possess such an arsenal. One of the many different tribes of garou, the Children of Gaia were associated with the ideals of peace and nurturing rather than conflict and conquest. Such adversarial traits were generally associated with other tribes, such as the Get of Fenris and the Silver Fangs. Monica could only shake her head in sadness at a world that had demanded such drastic measures of the peaceful tribe.

Skipping breakfast, Gloved Fist – for that's who she was now as she made a conscious effort to stop thinking of herself as Amanda as long as there was a battle in her foreseeable future – lugged her guns upstairs to clean them. Max looked at Monica, and decided not to open his mouth; that would just get him into trouble. Besides, for some reason the only thing he could think about was a particularly askew character from the movie Summer School, saying, "War puts a man through many, many changes, your honor." Max doubted he would be able to speak without laughing, and even he understood that really wasn't appropriate. So instead he fired up his bowl, turned on his mystical correspondence sense, and jacked into time the way only a mage could, feeling the world as it moved.

Ignoring the others, Jessup checked his own equipment once more. The first phase of the battle would be the most difficult. The sabot rocket would be the opening gambit, blowing the gate Gangrel to hell and beyond. Then he would pepper their reinforcements with Browning fire from the van, trusting his magic to keep them shielded. Gloved Fist would use this initial assault as cover as she established a foothold on Luna's property. Then she would cover him as they entered the compound. From there it was smooth sailing. With the alarm already disabled, all signs at the police stations would show 'all-clear.' That would ensure there would be no sleepers, leaving him free to utilize his magic as he wished. His magic and her form would be enough to slaughter the kindred inside.

Oddly, he felt a strange pang of remorse. Something inside him screamed that this was not what he had learned as a mage. _It's a life you left! Don't go back down those roads!_ Jessup quelled the voices in his head. The leeches had tried to kill him. They would be taught that such attempts were not tolerated.

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Matt sat up only moments after the sun's last rays dropped below the horizon. The day's rest had been pleasant, and the previous night's company had been tasty. Now all he needed was a good game. He scanned the channels and found Vancouver vs. Colorado. _Damn, the Avalanche are ahead._ He could hear Nadav and Magnus cooking with Holden, and their friendly banter brought a smile to his face. They had finally settled into a family, with Magnus as a grandfather figure, but Matt as head of the household. Siras had called a few times early on, but he seemed to feel that things were going as well as the Telemon primogen thought. The clan was growing quickly, though it made Matt sad that he would not have any new siblings. He was the last childe that Yashida had lived to sire.

Still, though, every night saw Clan Telemon more secure, as the handful of kindred in the bloodline had recently been augmented with some New York City SWAT Team officers and some battle-hardened Army Rangers. Having allowed himself to relax a slight bit, Matt decided to give Holden the night off. After all, they were at Luna's. Cash's Gangrel would be more than able to hold the place against virtually any foe. "Holden, take off," Matt said as he walked into the kitchen. "Hang with Rayce's crew tonight." The childe beamed. Holden fit in well with the Brujah, showing a more scholarly bent than Matt had anticipated.

"Thanks, dad," Holden replied with a playful smirk that looked absolutely disconcerting on the middle-aged Navy SEAL's face. "I'll be home by 12."

"Smart ass," Matt shot back. "Come home tomorrow night if you have to. Just remember – you get some girl in trouble, your mother will disown you." Matt chuckled. The easy joking that had been a way of life in State College had finally sunk in. For the first time since coming out to San Francisco, Matt felt like he was at home; for the first time since his sire had died, he felt like he had a family.

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Cash awoke to a feeling of peace. The sky was clear, a rare occurrence in the city, and the air was crisp. Sasha stirred beside him, having crept in after Jenni had gone into slumber. During his long life, the Gangrel had found that perfection like this was only achieved once in a great while. As he looked at Sasha, though, he dared to dream that perhaps a little bit of perfection could be had every day.

"What?" Sasha asked as she groggily opened her eyes, meeting Cash's steady gaze.

"Just lookin at you," he replied with a thin, pleased smile. Maybe things weren't so bad, after all.

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Lillie wasn't around, so Jo and her brood took it upon themselves to decide what to do. _That damn mage is playing tonight_, she seethed, every inch of her body seeming to shake with fury as she thought about what her enemy had already done to her and her clan. She was certain she and her group could get the jump on him. After all, they had dominated his woman into telling them his habits after the show. _Life couldn't be more perfect,_ she thought, suddenly calming down as quickly as she had gotten riled up, her heightened kindred emotions raging almost completely out of control from one end of the spectrum to the other. _And the sky is so clear tonight, like it was back in Montana, where I grew up,_ she reflected, remembering her mortal days, back before she ran away to Los Angeles to find her future. She had never expected that future to find her in San Francisco, turned into a vampire and facing off against a pissed-off mage. Despite all the negatives, though, she couldn't help but think that beautiful night that things had finally turned for Clan Toreador.

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Stretched across Monica's large bed, Gloved Fist asked what she felt was the obvious question. "So why aren't we hitting them during the day?" 

Stealer of Secrets replied, "To make sure we don't tip off the Toreador that Max is coming for them. They think I betrayed him when they tried to dominate my mind to get information from me. If he's not at the attack on the house, they'll know that he's waiting for them. Unless they don't know about the house, that is." With the sudden return of Max, Amanda and Monica resumed their small talk, all references to the violence of the next day banished as they continued to catch up on the five years they had spent apart.

****

Act the Fifth...

...Comes the Rain

At the club, Jo and her Toreador found little different from the woman's story. Everything was going as planned. At 9:45 he finished his set and went into the alley to smoke up. The kindred followed slowly, stalking upon their prey, watching his movements so that they could be certain he was truly as vulnerable as he appeared to be. He was tinkering with his guitar when too late Jo realized that while it was not plugged in, he was still playing… Still playing that same damned song she had heard once before. Jo shrieked in terror and agony as the Sahara sun reflected off of the sand that now surrounded her. As she burst into flame she reached in desperation for the mage, who was then gone.

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_11:00_, Matt thought grimly, noting that his childe still wasn't home. _Hmm… better have a talk with him 'bout that_. An hour earlier he had sent Nadav to guard the gates with two of Cash's Gangrel. Wondering at Holden's sudden lack of discipline, he wondered if maybe he'd send him, too…

An explosion suddenly rocked the gate, the force of the blast shaking Julian's mansion and knocking Matt from his reverie. The Telemon primogen ran to the courtyard – flame was all that was left of Nadav and the gate guards. As he prepared to run to the defense, tracer cover fire was laid down by a Browning. Choosing the better part of valor, Matt rolled to the side, behind the crumbling remnant of the wall. Drawing his own weapons, he noticed Cash and his Gangrel taking up defensive positions as well. _Where's Magnus? God damnit!_ It was then he realized that his blood uncle, an experienced assassin, would likely be invisible. When he turned his attention back to the gate, a woman in a kevlar vest and urban fatigues came in through the hole. _A woman?_ That wasn't part of the plan. _Two male mages was what they said. Two! Who the hell is this?! _He hesitated only an instant and fired. Her vest took most of the blast, and she turned, bursting into him with the MP-5. Matt rocked in pain as a tracer round tore through his shoulder, and he batted out the flames. One thing he didn't like about being kindred – he was too damn flammable.

-------------------------------------------------

Gloved Fist laid down some more fire and threw a grenade at Cash's group; she rushed the throw and was off-target – the phosphorous only singed them, but the bright flash momentarily caused them to recoil in fear. Jessup used this cover to sail in and hurl a ball of fire at the foremost Gangrel. His voice burst out, "Final death, mother fuckers!" Cash spun and put two well-placed rounds into him. Noting with his heightened senses that the bullets flattened on the man's coat like it was armor, Cash threw his gun in disgust as he ducked for cover. The last of his clan fired on the mage from the gun emplacement Matt had on the roof. One bullet overwhelmed Jessup's mystical defense, ripping into the mage's knee and dropping him in pain. Gloved Fist hurled another grenade into the nest, this time her aim being on the mark, killing the last of Cash's Gangrel guards.

With one arm completely useless, Matt raised up on one knee to help aim. Gloved Fist saw this and turned, her relatively petite body growing to a hulking, heavily muscled seven and a half feet tall as she sprang into her crinos form. Ten Brujah, led by Magnus, emerged from the shadows and knocked into her.

"UNTERGEHEN HUNDE!" he screamed "DU HAST MEINE KINDER STERBEN!" She seemed to understand him, and tore free of the Brujah, brutally ripping four of them apart in her rage. Matt drew a bead and fired, only to have it stop in mid-flight and come back at his head. The last thing he remembered was seeing Jessup pick up the Gangrel primogen.

"Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, Gangrel, for they are subtle and quick to anger!" the mage bellowed. Jessup held Cash high above his head, relishing the opportunity to punish the leader of the clan that had been foolish enough to attack him. Floating in the air, hands blazing like torches, he tortured Cash, until yet another shot rang out. The bullet struck his armored coat harmlessly, but caused him to turn.

Julian and Sasha dashed forth from the house, the prince's .45's blazing. Another shot ripped at Jessup's unprotected legs. Startled, he dropped his Gangrel prisoner, who was then promptly pulled to safety by a Brujah. "What a cluster fuck," Jessup whispered under his breath. "The goddamn Brujah clan wasn't suppose to be here!" Had the attack gone as planned, he knew that he and Gloved Fist should have been more than enough to slaughter the lot of these vampires. With the Brujah present, though, he expected to be hard-pressed. It was then that he recognized her – Sasha, the Gangrel's whore. _Luck may yet decide to favor me._ With lightning speed he flew over, creating bands of steel around her, then carried her off, leaving Gloved Fist to her fate.

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Gloved Fist employed the mystical gifts given to her by the spirits, inspiring a supernatural fear in those around her. The young and inexperienced ranks of Brujah fled, leaving Magnus to face her alone. Lips drew back, revealing her teeth. "Tonight, Wyrm-spawn, you die…" she growled, the words a mishmash of English and snarls that would only have been intelligible to another of her own kind. But though she put on a great display of being terrifying, her heart wasn't really in it. That was unfortunate for her, because Magnus' heart very much was. 

Drawing his garou-knife, Magnus smiled. He, of course, had anticipated aid of a sort, and garou had seemed the logical choice. They had attacked before. Now, however, the hunter had become the hunted, and the argent blade would put her down. Slashing across her mid-section, he delivered a vicious cut.

Bellowing in pain, Gloved Fist slammed her claws into the vampire, ripping his guts out in a fierce act of vengeance. She snarled in fury as Magnus screamed in rage. In each other, the two found an equal, and they would both rather die than back down

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Julian looked at the battle at the gate, neither Magnus nor Gloved Fist giving quarter to the other. It did not last long – within seconds both combatants had inflicted so much damage on their foe that they both lay motionless in a mingling pool of garou and kindred blood.

However, Julian could tell that they both still lived, and he surmised he would need a hostage to trade. After directing the returning Brujah to drag the two survivors inside, the prince snatched up his valuable bargaining chip.

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From the shadows, Daedalus watched the battle, aloof but fascinated. Truly the mage was of some power. He nearly acted when Jessup took Sasha, but remembered his vow to himself. He would not become involved. Entering the prince's cellar through his catacombs, Daedalus waited for Julian to come down to the bunker where they would keep the prisoner. Once Julian came into view, carrying Gloved Fist's unconscious and badly wounded body, Daedalus lunged, snapping Luna's back like a matchstick and knocking him unconscious. The wounds would heal, in time, and the Nosferatu was certain that Luna would have no way of knowing who had attacked him. Gingerly, he picked up his injured love and retreated to his haven.

-------------------------------------------------

Quickly, Daedalus used his blood to heal Gloved Fist. She opened her eyes, momentarily shocked to see him; but there was no fear, simply a look of warmth. "Daedalus, you lived," she said, relief evident in her voice. "Are your friends dead?" she asked, adding a surprising touch of concern.

"No, but I feared you would die," the Nosferatu answered. "I am sorry. I used my blood to heal you. I know how your kind feel about that." Daedalus was afraid to look at her, afraid to see the anger and horror. Instead, he found her reassuring touch on his arm.

"Daedalus, you know I love ya babe," she said with a satisfied sigh. At long last – acceptance. Beauty and the beast.

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Jessup stared at the girl, his mind racing along at a mile a minute. _What in hell was I thinking?_ He knew he didn't dare starve her, and he couldn't possibly feed her. And now he had a real enemy in Luna. The back of his mind screamed at the chaos he had made of his life. _God, nothing is ever easy._

In the end, he did the only thing he could – he gave Sasha to a prominent local mage, a young man named Hugh. Jessup knew that Hugh would work out a profitable deal, that Luna would likely have to get out of the gunrunning business in order to get his niece back. All that Jessup cared about, however, was getting out of the Bay Area in one piece. He ran, never to come back.

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Amanda took her leave some days later, stopping at Monica's and Max's before she left. Monica was sad to see her go, but they each had a new life now. They were both free.

"Why don't you both come see Pittsburgh?" Amanda offered, though she knew her invitation wouldn't be accepted.

"Maybe we will," Monica replied, though she knew her words to be a lie. She, like Amanda, knew that the past would forever stay in the past. Though she still had her doubts… _After all, little lies like that are what keep us together._

Fin

Acknowledgements

Spelling entertainment

Julian

Lillie

Sasha

Cash

Daedalus

White wolf publishing 

All references to world of darkness game concepts including Kindred, Brujah, Ventrue, sabbat camarilla, garou, uktena, children of gaia, Nosferatu, cultist of ecstacy, do, akashic brotherhood, Tremere, virtual adept

Norm de moose

Rayce

Holden

Patrick

Eric bowmaster

Matt

Dwayne Gamble

Marcus

ME

MONICA/stealer of secrets

Magnus

Nadav

Jessup

Marik

Max callaway

Siras Telemon

Clan Telemon


End file.
